


Even If It Kills Me

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Treasonous Relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even If It Kills Me

Even If It Kills Me

They were lying in the bed together, the linen sheets askew and damp with sweat.  He was flat on his back, a smile on his lips as he looked up at his beauty, she pretending that he meant nothing, just to toy with him.  Sometimes she’d stare down at him with a cold look, as if he’d offended her.  She liked to play that game.

                Quinn leaned down on her elbow, let her fingers twitch across his broad front.  He was too pretty, and it drove her to distraction.  Everything, from the little hairs on his chest that she liked to pull, to his wide lips that she liked to kiss, to his full cock that she liked to rub – it was all almost too pretty for a man.  She stared down at him and smirked.

                “Have I amused the Queen’s Majesty?” Sam asked, an equal smirk gracing his lips.

                She tried to look coy, but instead giggled; he did that to her.  “Make for me a poem, Sir Knight.  Please me with your words.”  Quinn lowered her mouth and teased one of his nipples with her teeth.  “And your wit.”

                He quaked under her mouth.  “You seemed to like other things besides my wit, Majesty.  Why make me struggle with words when my cock is so much more skilled than my tongue.”  His hand slid down her back, down the curve of her waist, to cup her firm ass.

                “Your tongue is skilled enough; I have felt this.”  Quinn’s eyes rolled back in her head as the remembered his kisses as he’d knelt between her legs.  “Poem.  Now.”

                Sir Sam laughed, giving up.  “Beautiful or bawdy?  It’ll have to be blank verse, I’m afraid; you’ve left little enough blood in my head to think with.”

                The Queen rolled her eyes like he was annoying her.  “Surprise me, Sir Fool.”

                He flipped her over and rolled on top, flattened her breast under his palm.  “Hmm.  My Queen, she is like the world and the weather.  Her eyes are the like the sky, vast and deep, her hair, my favorite, uh, feather.”

                She cackled wildly.  “I’m glad your father is rich, Sir, lest you be a beggar; your lyrics will earn you no place at Court.”  Quinn leaned forward and kissed him.  “Second verse, as bad as the first one was.”

                Her lover grinned.  “You inspire many feelings in me, sweetheart,” only he called her that; her cold husband never called her that, never called her at all, “but skill with verse is not one of them.”  The blonde knight cleared his throat.  “My Queen, her husband is a lout, but for her, my love is oh so devout.”  A kiss for each breast.  “I spend every night praying for good luck, so that on the next day, we two might,” Sam paused for dramatic effect, “fuck.”

                A fit of giggles was his prize.  “You wax poetic very ill, good Sir, but I commend your efforts, and for that, you must be rewarded.”  The Queen smiled and kissed the end of his nose.  “You may lie across me; I am cold.”

                He was happy to oblige.  “If it pleases Her Majesty, I could try for another line.”  His fingers rubbed between her legs.  “Methinks I need to mention my constant quest to explore your golden forest.  And really,” Sam said, kissing her smile, “I simply enjoy talking about the fucking.”

                Quinn laughed at him.  “Deeds speak louder than words, Sir Knight.”

XxXxX

                After the final moan and then the collapse, he held in her in his arms for a long time, the way he wanted to every night and every morning, not just during stolen moments and forbidden interludes.  “Run away with me,” Sam whispered into her neck.

                The Queen sighed.  She turned in his grip so that their chests were pressed together, so that she might look into his eyes.  “When you speak of such things, it just serves to remind me that men cannot be both beautiful and bright.”  Damp bangs were plastered across his forehead, so Quinn brushed them away.  “Aside from the manifold impossibilities of your venture, what about my son?  I could never leave without him, and the King would _never_ let him escape.”  Henry was nine, born when his mother was fourteen.

                “I could give you another son,” Sam spoke, his lips never leaving hers.  “And daughters, a family.  We could already have a child if you’d stop taking the damn tea.”  The Queen’s apothecary gave her a mixture to stop his seed from quickening inside of her; a queen could not be with child when her king never visited her bedchamber.

                “You speak like a damn fool.”  She turned her head so as not to look at him.

                “The damn fool who loves you with all his heart, with everything he has.  The damn fool who wants nothing more than to be with you every day and every night.”  He kissed her cheek.  “I am that damn fool, Majesty.”

                Quinn rolled her eyes, but only to cover up how much she wanted it too.  She shrugged him off and got out of bed, walked to the window of her bedchamber.  “I thought we were finished with silly poetry?”

                Sam watched her naked body move, watched her muscles flex as she walked.  He kicked away from the bed and stepped up behind her.  With arms around her flat stomach, he whispered against her neck, “I cannot stand to think of him in here with you; it makes my heart cry at night when I am alone, and I know he’s here with you.”

                Quinn snorted, but didn’t push away; she pushed into him.  “Do you mean my lord husband and your King?  Worry not, he rarely enough visits; once, about a month ago, he came in, but he was drunk and thought this to be his whore’s room.”  She brought his hand up and kissed it.  “Did you know that he gives her my jewels as presents?” Quinn laughed.  “He flaunts her in front of me.  Yesterday she was wearing my mother’s ruby necklace.”

                Sam tightened around her.  “Say the word, and I will kill him.”

                “You’re an idiot,” the Queen quipped, removing his hands to walk back to bed.  “They would then kill you, and even if they didn’t suspect our,” she looked at the disheveled bed, “connection, the King’s widow always ends up in a convent.”

                He followed her back and took her hands.  “I will slit his throat in the dead of night.  We, you and I and the prince, shall escape and sail for France.”

                “Where King Charles is married to my husband’s sister.  He will behead you and send Henry and me back.”  Quinn pulled her hands away.  “Leave the fairytales to those who know how to tell them, good Sir.”

                Sam ignored her.  “One of the German states, then.  We shall set up a little house, and I’ll teach Henry to be a knight.”  He lay against her on the bed.  “And every night,” came the whisper, “we shall make love and revel in our freedom to do so.”

  1.                 “Why do you temp me with your foolishness?  It only serves to make me sadder.”  Quinn hugged herself to him, just wishing that everyone and everything that wasn’t here, right now, would go away.                



                “It only serves to make me happier,” Sam retorted.  “I know that in my mind at least, I am free to love you, free to flaunt that I have seen you in all the glory God gave you, that glory you share with me.”  Sam rested his face in hair.  “If you love me, run away with me tonight.  We cannot realistically kidnap your son, he is too well-guarded, but you are about to lose him anyway!  You know that the king is giving him his own household in York, far from London.”  He saw the pain in her face; it was the truth, she would but rarely see him after this, perhaps once or twice a year.  “Come with me, and I will give you sons that you can hold and kiss and love for the rest of your life; they will never be taken away from you!”

                Quinn was crying.  “Leave me.”

                “I will never.”

                “Leave now, or I will call the guards.”

                Sam brushed it aside.  “The king will kill you if we’re found like this.”

                “I’ll tell him you raped me.” 

                “You could no more say that than claim God’s Heaven to be Hell.”

                He was right, she’d never say it.  “Hold me then, and if you truly love me then be silent.”

                Sam pulled her to his chest and rubbed between her shoulders.  He kissed her hair when he felt the tears trickle against his muscles.  “Don’t cry,” he whispered.  “Right now, in this bed, everything is alright.  Right now, no one can take you away from me.”

                “Everyone can.  I am married to the _king._ We are committing treason.”  She put her hands on his face.  “They will hang you, but only enough to cause extreme pain; they’ll cut you down before you die.  They’ll open your belly and pull out your intestines.  They’ll cut off your manhood and burn it as you perish slowly.  They’ll make me watch.  Is this what you want?”

                “I risk it every time I come to you, and I shall be back tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.”  Sam kissed her.  “My favorite thing in the world is to ask the King if I might have a dance with his wife.  In my mind though, I don’t mean holding your hand in the Great Hall, I mean,” he whispered against her ear, “when you sit atop me and ride me and scream my name and fuck me until you cannot but collapse and hold me closer.  I’ll risk whatever he can do to me; just knowing that it’s my name on your lips is enough.”

                Quinn closed her eyes as he slid into her.  “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

                “Do you feel any differently?” he gasped as the warmth enveloped him.  “Say yes and I’ll leave, just as you asked me to.”

                Quinn shuddered under him.  “No.”  She groaned as his body slapped against hers, and groaned still louder as they came together.  “We’re both stupid,” she said, her arms wrapped around his back, his fingers in his hair.  “We must be in the arms of God.”

                “Why must we?” he asked, panting against her shoulder.

                “Because we’re still alive.”

                “It’s your arms keeping me alive, no one else’s.”

                Quinn shook her head but squeezed him anyway.  “I love you, even if it kills me.”

                “That shall be my new motto when I ride into the joust,” Sam said as he kissed her once more on the forehead before reluctantly pulling away; he had to leave before her maids arrived.  

“Even if it kills me.”

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